


Down to Embers

by audreyskdramablog



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, it's the last camp, just in case you need a moment to prepare yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 02:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20827829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyskdramablog/pseuds/audreyskdramablog
Summary: “I keep trying to figure out how to say I’m sorry,” Noct says, and Prompto’s stomach curdles. “But I don’t want to fight with you.”“Then don’t apologize. You haven’t—this isn’t—”He hopes he’s not imagining Noctis leaning in a little more, the point of heat blossoming along his upper arm.“This isn’t how the story’s supposed to go?” Noct asks, and the light tone he takes is so obviously forced that Prompto’s fingers curl into fists. “If the love interest’s faithful despite all the time and the distance, they’re supposed to live happily ever after once the hero comes back home.”





	Down to Embers

**Author's Note:**

> All the blame for this can be laid directly at the feet of the FFXV Book Club discord server. It’s your guys’ fault I even started writing it.
> 
> Many additional thanks to [crazyloststar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazyloststar/profile), who put up with me insecurely spamming this fic at her, piece by piece, over the course of a week. Your patience and cheerleading is much appreciated.

Noctis sits down on the ground next to him, close enough that their shoulders brush. And after ten years, maybe that ought to be enough, but Prompto still remembers how much closer they used to be. How Noctis used to practically drape himself over Prompto whenever he could, how he liked to rest his head in Prompto’s lap, how he sprawled back against Prompto’s chest, how he used to snake his arms around Prompto’s ribs and bury his face against Prompto’s neck.

Fuck.

Prompto had all his hopes pinned on Noct’s return. It’s the only thing that kept him going during the many, many low points of the Night—he couldn’t bear the thought of Noctis coming back only for Ignis or Gladio to have to tell him that Prompto didn’t make it. And now?

Noct’s finally back, and Prompto desperately wishes he weren’t.

The campfire’s slowly burning down. Even this close, he can’t seem to get warm. Noct’s shoulder is a bright point of heat, and Prompto wants to lean into it, curl himself around Noctis and hold him carefully. Like Noct’s an ember that needs shelter from the wind that’s trying to snuff him out.

Noctis clears his throat, and Prompto turns his head a little, just enough so he can get a better look at Noct’s expression. His lips have pulled into a wry smile, and his eyes are distant, not quite focused on the fire. “I keep trying to figure out how to say I’m sorry,” Noct says, and Prompto’s stomach curdles. “But I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Then don’t apologize. You haven’t—this isn’t—”

He hopes he’s not imagining Noctis leaning in a little more, the point of heat blossoming along his upper arm.

“This isn’t how the story’s supposed to go?” Noct asks, and the light tone he takes is so obviously forced that Prompto’s fingers curl into fists. “If the love interest’s faithful despite all the time and the distance, they’re supposed to live happily ever after once the hero comes back home.”

Prompto looks away because he’s already cried in front of Noct tonight, and he doesn’t want to do it again. Fuck. Noct’s the one who’s going to—and yet here he is, trying to cheer Prompto up, as if there’s anything in the world he could say besides  _ turns out I misunderstood Bahamut, everything’ll be just fine  _ that is capable of doing that.

He sucks in a breath in the silence afterward, but he does a shit job of keeping his voice even. “Yeah, well, that’s what you get for liking the modern fairytales. There were a lot fewer happy endings in the originals.”

Noctis puts his arm half around Prompto, resting his hand between Prompto’s shoulder blades. Under other circumstances, it would be comforting. Prompto hunches in on himself instead of leaning into the touch. Noctis rubs his thumb along Prompto’s spine anyway, and he doesn’t say anything when Prompto’s breathing hitches.

Prompto crumbles under that soft, persistent touch. He brings his knees up, hides his face in them, wraps his arms around his legs. He feels like a coward, but he does it anyway, because he knows from long experience he’s better at muffling the sounds like this. Noct’s hand slides down his back, then up again, a smooth, steady motion that is an invitation to fall apart. Prompto shudders but hangs white-knuckled onto his composure. No tears. None that he’ll let fall, anyway.

It’s not fair, none of this is fair. He should have known better to hope for a future together. He should have left that hope buried all those years ago, when the peace treaty promised Noct’s hand away in the first place. He shouldn’t have tried to find the silver lining in Insomnia’s fall. He shouldn’t have gone back to hand holding and quiet kisses and stolen, intimate moments on the road.

Noct’s hand finds its way to Prompto’s head, and his nails scratch gently against his scalp, his fingertips sliding through Prompto’s unruly hair. It’s what he used to do when Prompto’s brain wouldn’t shut up, it’s one of the few things that help him settle down, but it isn’t working right now. 

All Prompto can think about is that this—from this point on, it’s going to be nothing but  _ lasts _ between them. Last time staying up to talk around the campfire. Last time Noctis plays with his hair. Last, last,  _ last _ until there isn’t anything left to count down.

He feels Noctis shift. Their sides press together, and Noctis leans in to brush his lips against Prompto’s temple. His beard, unfamiliar, scrapes against Prompto’s cheekbone. “Thank you,” Noctis whispers. “I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

It’s worse than an apology somehow. A strangled noise rises from Prompto’s throat, and he straightens up enough that he and Noctis are face-to-face. Noct’s eyes are damp. 

“Don’t,” Prompto says. He can’t help the way his voice cracks. “Don’t say goodbye yet. Not yet, you asshole.”

A half-smile tugs at Noct’s lips. His fingers curl in Prompto’s hair, pull gently at the strands. “Yeah? You going to stop me?”

It’s a cheesy, blatant invitation, one that would have had Prompto scoffing ten years ago and elbowing Noctis away. 

_ Last. _

Prompto surges forward and kisses Noctis. It’s hard and desperate and more than a little clumsy, and for all his teasing, Noctis isn’t ready for it. Their mouths are off-center, their noses smush against each other, and Prompto doesn’t wait for them to find their balance. He fists his hands in the lapels of Noct’s suit jacket and yanks him closer.

As kisses go, they’ve had better. Eventually they figure out something that is less physically awkward, even if it is still painful in other ways. Prompto’s breath keeps catching as he fends off the urge to cry, but Noctis keeps chasing after him, not eager to let him pull away. The edge of desperation slowly comes off and the kiss softens into something achingly bittersweet. It doesn’t match the memories, the fantasies, Prompto clung to over the years. It will have to be enough.

It ends forehead-to-temple, Noct’s breath warm on Prompto’s cheek, Prompto’s eyes closed. His heart beats a painful rhythm against his ribs as he tries to even out his breath. 

“Okay,” Noct whispers. “No goodbyes yet.”

_ No goodbyes ever, _ Prompto thinks but does not say. He lets go of Noct’s jacket and slides his hands up so he can loop his arms around Noct’s shoulders. After a few moments, Noctis shifts so he can wrap his arms around Prompto’s middle and hide his face against Prompto’s neck. His fingers tangle in the back of Prompto’s vest.

Prompto wants to drown in the rise and fall of Noct’s chest. It’s his turn to thread his fingers into Noct’s hair, to run his hand down Noct’s back. He can still feel the raised scar across Noct’s spine through his clothes, and that bit of familiarity has Prompto biting his lower lip hard to keep silent. 

He holds Noctis long enough that if it weren’t for how tightly Noct is grabbing his clothes, he’d think Noct fell asleep. It wouldn’t be the first time he was that kind of sanctuary for Noctis.

“Prompto,” Noctis says, soft enough that he almost misses it. 

He hums back, half question, half acknowledgment, that he heard. He traces idle circles along the back of Noct’s neck, wondering if they’d be warm enough between the two of them to stay out here instead of retreating to the tent. Wondering if that makes him a terrible friend, to want to horde Noctis to himself when Ignis and Gladio have just as little time left with him as Prompto does.

“Do you…?” Noctis pauses, and Prompto waits. It’s almost comforting, for all Noctis has changed, that he still isn’t great with words. So much about them both has changed, but this thing has stayed the same. “Do you...want more?”

Prompto goes still. There’s something— _ wrong _ in that question, something that Prompto has no name for. “Noct?”

Noct’s hands relax their grip on Prompto’s clothes. They smooth down the fabric, skim over his lower back.

“Hey.” Prompto pulls back a little, moves the hand in Noct’s hair so he can tilt his chin up, so they can look each other in the face. He doesn’t know how to read what is in Noct’s expression right now. Which is—this isn’t how this normally goes. Normally, when Noctis asks a question like that, there is always obvious desire in his eyes. Prompto swallows hard and wills his heart not to break a second time tonight. “Do  _ you _ want to?”

“If you do.”

He’s never had that much control over his heart. The jagged pieces slip out between his ribs. Prompto brushes his thumb over Noct’s dry lips. “Nah, I’m not playing that game tonight.” He leans in, kisses Noct’s forehead. His voice comes out thick and wet. “I’m not going to take another piece of you just because you think you might as well offer it up.”

The last time they had sex was in Altissia, before everything went straight to shit. The last time they kissed before tonight was in Zegnautus, after Noctis and the others rescued him, before Noctis disappeared for ten whole years. Before they got to reestablish normal for them.

“You agreed,” Prompto continues, not quite chiding, “no goodbyes yet. No apologies, either. If you want me, I’m yours. But you—you’ve gotta be selfish, Noct. Not because you think I deserve to have one last time with you, before—”

His voice fails him then. Noctis reaches up to take his wrist, fingers loosely wrapped around his wristband, and shifts so he can press a kiss to the center of Prompto’s gloved palm. The kiss is the faintest pressure through the leather. Prompto still has to suppress a shiver.

“Can we lie down?” Noctis asks. “I just—I want to be with you. As long as I can.”

Prompto musters up the best smile he can manage right now. “Yeah. Of course.”

* * *

It would be more comfortable if they got a sleeping bag from the tent, but neither of them want to step away to do that. Prompto ends up on his back on the rocky haven, with Noctis curled up next to him. Noct’s head is on his shoulder, left arm draped across his chest, hand resting over his sternum, body pressed up all along Prompto’s side. His knee brace pokes into Prompto’s calf. Noctis is warmer than the dying fire, a sharp contrast to the ground beneath them. Prompto holds him close and tries to pretend it’s ten years ago, when they used to stay up late talking and making up constellations, but it’s hard to believe when there’s nothing but blackness above them.

Where they are now—the road they were on was never going to lead anywhere but here. 

Noctis is quiet at first, and Prompto is content to just exist beside him. From what Noctis said before, at Hammerhead, there wasn’t a whole lot to say about his time spent in the Crystal. Time was different there. Ten years passed as quickly as ten minutes, as easily as an eternity. 

But Noctis opens up slowly, a piece at a time, like Prompto vaguely remembers blossoms doing in the spring. Noctis mostly asks questions, about Prompto, Ignis, Gladio. What their lives were like while he was gone. He follows one subject until he reaches the end, before he jumps to another. He doesn’t push for gory details, but he doesn’t let Prompto skip completely over the bad parts, either. 

So Prompto tells Noctis in broad strokes about how the sunlight failed them, the thousands then millions dead. How close infrastructure and industry came to collapse, more than once. How epidemics swept through the overcrowded streets of Lestallum. How radically humanity changed when rapidly forced to come to terms with the odds of everything ending.

But it’s not all bad. Prompto has plenty of good stories to tell Noctis, too. He’s in the middle of telling Noctis about the time Iris—on her first official hunt at seventeen—stole a Ronin’s sword and cut its head clean off, when he catches Noctis smiling at him. It’s the first smile he’s seen of Noct’s that doesn’t have some kind of pain behind it. Not since before Altissia.

“What is it?” Prompto nearly kicks himself for asking, afraid the question will make the smile slip away.

Noctis, for some reason, smiles wider. “Nothing.” 

It makes what’s left of Prompto’s heart ache. He takes a calculated risk and reaches over with his free hand to poke Noctis in the ribs. “Noct,” he whines, like they’re both twenty again and don’t know what lies ahead of them.

Noctis huffs out a startled breath and grabs Prompto’s hand to keep him from escalating to tickling. “Jerk,” he says, but it comes out fond, like it always did. It was the closest they ever came to pet names. Noctis adjusts his grip, so their hands are palm-to-palm and he can thread their fingers together. 

Prompto wishes he’d taken his gloves off. “C’mon, tell me.”

“Just—” Noctis squeezes Prompto's hand as his voice gets soft around the edges. “I like—how worked up you get, when you’re telling a story. You were always good at that.”

The tips of Prompto’s ears go hot. “Sap.”

“Yeah,” Noctis says quietly. “Guess I am.” 

As if to prove the point, he kisses Prompto’s bare fingertips. Prompto’s heart skips a beat and then takes the next two too fast, as if to make up for it. Noctis doesn’t say anything else, and Prompto jumps right back into the story so he doesn’t lose Noct’s smile.

* * *

He talks until his voice goes hoarse and the fire burns down to embers. Noctis slowly goes boneless beside him, his hand relaxing its gentle grip on Prompto’s, his cheek sinking into Prompto’s shoulder. He’s fallen asleep like this too many times to count, and Prompto keeps talking because the only thing that matters to him right now is that Noctis can catch a few peaceful hours of sleep.

Prompto isn’t exactly sure when he drifts off, but he can pinpoint the moment he comes back to himself: Noctis pulling away, leaving Prompto’s side exposed to the cold. There aren’t any other sounds, any other movements that Prompto can sense, which means it’s probably still too early for Gladio or Ignis to be awake. He keeps his eyes shut, selfish, knowing that the moment he opens them, it will really, truly, be the start of the end. The start of the rest of their  _ lasts. _

Noctis carefully takes Prompto’s left hand in both of his, like he knows exactly how fragile Prompto is right now. His thumbs trace gentle circles along the back of Prompto’s hand, over the leather. He really should have taken his gloves off.

But he’ll stay as he is for now. If Noct wants to sit up and hold his hand, Prompto will feign sleep until the others wake up. Whatever—whatever Noctis needs him to be tonight, that’s what he’ll be. Maybe that’s hypocritical after what he told Noctis about them having sex, but he doesn’t care. 

He nearly falls back asleep, but a shaky exhalation from Noctis keeps him from going under. 

“You deserved to hear it more,” Noctis whispers. The words are rough, unpolished. Pained. “That I loved you. Fuck. I cheated you of so much godsdamned time.”

The confession is a knife digging under Prompto’s ribs. What’s worse is that there’s a small, broken part of Prompto that agrees. He doesn’t remember ever hearing  _ I love you _ from his parents; the only person who ever told him that was Noct. And maybe that’s unfair, to expect Noctis to patch over the hole that existed before Noct ever entered his life. Especially since he never had enough guts to tell Noctis he wanted to hear it more often. That it was important to him to hear Noctis say  _ I love you. _ Noctis can’t be faulted for not giving him something he didn’t know Prompto craved. 

But Prompto doesn’t have to let Noct die with this regret, not when it’s in his power to fix it. He opens his eyes and finds Noctis above him, to his left side. Between the embers and the runes at the haven’s edge, and the way his longer hair frames his face, most of Noctis is still in shadow. But there’s just enough light for Prompto to see him startle when he grips Noct’s hands. 

“So tell me, then,” Prompto says. “I want to hear it.”

Noctis lets out a breath that’s too watery to be a laugh. “I love you.” He lifts Prompto’s hand and presses a kiss against his gloved knuckles, as if to seal the words in place. 

It hurts, and it’s too soon to tell if it’s a good hurt or not. Prompto isn’t sure if he’ll ever know. “Again,” he demands, as Noct starts to lower his hand. “And take off my gloves.”

This time Noctis  _ does _ laugh, and fuck,  _ fuck.  _ Prompto forgot what Noct’s laugh sounded like. He has no idea when that happened, but now that he’s heard it—

He’s going to forget again, someday. He’s going to forget the exact cadence of Noct’s laugh, the sleepy timbre of his protests whenever he had to be dragged out of bed, the triumphant pitch of his voice whenever he managed to reel in a tricky catch. 

If Prompto hasn’t already. He used to be good at making Noctis laugh; he sometimes thought it was the only reason they kept him around. The only thing he could do well that Ignis and Gladio struggled with.

Fuck him,  _ fuck him, _ he is  _ not _ going to cry over this. Not now, not when Noctis is undoing the snaps on his gloves and peeling them off. 

Noctis gets both gloves off, then takes one of Prompto’s hands in each of his. He raises them up one at a time, presses a gentle kiss to each set of knuckles like Prompto is nobility, his peer, something treasured, and says reverently, “I love you, Prompto Argentum.”

Holding hands is so much better when the leather isn’t in the way. “I love you, too. Dork.”

He swears he can feel Noctis smile against his skin. “Yeah, I know.” 

Prompto debates for a moment if he should tug Noctis back down beside him. He doesn’t know how much longer they have until morning, or whatever passes for it nowadays, and he doesn’t want to dig around for his phone to find out. If he doesn’t look at the time, this night will never end. That’s how it works, right?

He wonders if Noctis can see his face any better in the dim glow of the haven. He wonders what Noctis sees in him, right now, lying on his back and staring up at him, trying to find definition in the shadows.

Noctis sets Prompto’s left hand on his stomach, careful and deliberate. He keeps Prompto’s right hand and presses another kiss—longer, softer—to the back of his hand.

Something about that gesture makes Prompto’s pulse jump in his throat. Noctis doesn’t say anything, but he does turn Prompto’s hand so he can kiss the center of his palm. Prompto’s fingers curl lightly against Noct’s cheek.

“I love you,” Noctis says, soft enough the words are nearly lost in the cup of Prompto’s hand. His breath is warm, and the brush of his lips against Prompto’s skin sends a spark through his veins. It feels—different this time. Not in any way Prompto can articulate, but in a way that he is entirely unsurprised when Noctis kisses his palm again. 

Prompto hesitates, then brushes Noct’s cheekbone with his fingertips, as much as he can without moving his hand away from where Noctis wants it. Noctis leans into the touch. He also reaches up with his free hand so he can take Prompto’s forearm and stroke the inside of Prompto’s arm with his thumb, just beneath the wristband. The Ring of the Lucii brushes against his arm.

This time, Prompto can’t help the shiver that goes through him. This time, Prompto thinks of how much better Noct’s touch feels with nothing between them. This time, Prompto remembers that it is dark, and Noctis already knows, anyway.

His throat works for a moment, and then he says in a voice breathless from nerves, “You can take it off. The wristband.”

Noctis goes still for one heartbeat, two, and Prompto has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from retracting the offer. Or screaming. But Noctis presses another kiss to Prompto’s palm. “All right.”

He brings Prompto’s hand down, and Prompto holds his arm still so Noct can carefully undo the buckle at his wrist. Noctis is gentle, slow, either because he’s having trouble with how little light there is or because he’s giving Prompto every chance to change his mind. Prompto wishes he could see the subtleties of Noct’s expression, but the broad, shadowed lines will have to do. 

The wristband comes off. Prompto breathes deep and tries to ignore the tremor in his fingers. Noctis didn’t reject him ten years ago. He won’t do it now. Prompto still feels horribly exposed and fights the urge to roll onto his side and curl around his secret.

Noctis takes Prompto’s wrist in both hands and skims his thumbs over the barcode. It’s an alien sensation, one that has Prompto shuddering. “It’s fine,” he says, when Noctis goes still again. “Just—it’s new.”

“Bad new?”

He’s not sure. “Different. I don’t really show people. More people know now. But—yeah.”

“Okay,” Noctis says. He turns Prompto’s wrist over, so the barcode faces away from him. “Something else, maybe?”

And then, like he can read Prompto’s mind, he leans down and brushes the gentlest kiss to the inside of Prompto’s wrist. Prompto’s breath catches audibly, not quite a gasp, at the way it makes his skin tingle and his face heat up. 

“Like that?” Noctis asks, and Prompto can  _ hear  _ his smirk as well as feel it against his wrist.

Prompto smacks his free hand against Noct’s thigh. “I’ve  _ missed _ you, jerk.” He nearly adds  _ I don’t know why, _ but even as a joke he can’t say it. Not when he knows he’s going to go straight back to missing Noctis, and this time with no end in sight.

“I’ve missed you, too. Even before—” The playfulness vanishes from Noct’s voice, as thoroughly as sunlight. “I was awful to you after Altissia. I should have—”

Prompto digs his fingers into Noct’s thigh. “No apologies. You agreed.”

“Prompto, I—”

“You can either apologize or keep kissing me,” Prompto tells him, “but I can’t handle both. Not tonight.”

He hates how his voice wavers, but he can’t call back the words once they’re in the open air. He means them. So much for being whatever Noctis needs him to be right now. He can only handle falling apart once tonight, and Noctis needs to choose which way it will be.

After one long, silent moment, Noctis leans down and kisses him. 

Their mouths fit together much better this time. It’s a slower, gentler kiss, fueled less by grief and more by careful consideration. Where desperation gave way to bittersweet before, Prompto now finds relief in surrendering to Noct’s decision. 

He levers himself up on his left elbow so Noctis doesn’t have to lean down so far and is rewarded with the scrape of teeth on his lower lip. Prompto lets Noctis lead, thrilled that Noct  _ wants _ to kiss him, that Noct coaxes his mouth open and kisses him thoroughly, that Noct cups the back of his head with one hand like he is something precious.

It still isn’t the best kiss they’ve ever had, but it’s up there on the list. By the time Noctis breaks it, they’re both breathless, and Prompto fights the urge to yank Noctis down on top of him. He’s losing the willpower for it, with Noct’s mouth a finger’s width away, the two of them breathing in each other’s air.

“Think I’m a little out of practice,” Noctis murmurs, and Prompto hears his smirk again. “You didn’t moan at all during that.”

Prompto flushes dark enough it would be a miracle if Noctis  _ couldn’t  _ feel the heat radiating off his face. If they were on something other than bare rock, he’d flop back dramatically and hide in his arms. Instead, he knocks their foreheads together lightly and tries to muster up some dignity. It’s a little ruined by his inability to breathe normally. “You’re lucky I’m still in love with you.”

“I am,” Noctis says, and the sincerity in his voice makes Prompto’s chest ache. “Can I try again?”

Prompto has to clear his throat. “Yeah, go for it.”  _ Please, _ he thinks, but he doesn’t have to actually say it out loud because Noctis closes that short gap between them and resumes kissing him. 

The years have made the finer details hazy, but Prompto remembers enough. Enough to anticipate the moment Nocts gives in to that spark of  _ want, _ when he allows that edge of impatience to bleed over into his lips, his tongue. And  _ fuck, _ that change alone is so much better than the anemic offer Noctis made to him earlier in the night.

Noctis scratches down the back of Prompto’s neck, and earns himself a soft, appreciative noise at the way the sensation echoes down Prompto’s spine. He still has a loose hold on Prompto’s right wrist, so Prompto leverages himself up to sitting, then to kneeling, so he doesn’t have to keep using his arm to brace himself. His left hand settles on Noct’s thigh, and giddiness sweeps through him when he feels the muscle underneath his palm tense.

The new position also changes the angle of their kiss, and Prompto takes full advantage of it. He tries to pour ten years of longing, of worn-thin hope, of loneliness and desire into the ways their mouths fit together. There’s not enough time for Prompto to tell Noct all those things; this kiss will have to do.

Noctis sets Prompto’s right hand on his other thigh and reaches for Prompto’s hip. He gets the moan he is looking for when he brushes his thumb along the place Prompto's thigh and hip meet.

Noctis pulls back enough to speak. “There we go.” His voice is low and rough despite the teasing, and Prompto’s heart races because  _ he _ made Noct sound like that. He’d forgotten how rumbly Noct’s voice could go when they got this far. “That’s better.”

Prompto kisses the corner of Noct’s mouth to distract himself from that thought. “Could be better still. If you want.”

He tries to sound playful. He wishes he could see the subtleties of Noct’s expression, but even this close it's still too dark.

Noct’s hand tightens on his hip. “I do. I want—you.”

Prompto thought his heart was racing earlier; it’s nothing compared to now. He slides his hands over Noct’s thighs and relishes how Noct’s breath catches in response. “For selfish reasons?”

Noctis kisses him, a quick, hard press of lips. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Oh, good,” Prompto murmurs back. “Because I’ve been wanting to climb you ever since you came back.”

He’s rewarded with Noct’s laugh again, but this time it’s the kind of laugh that makes Prompto’s stomach clench. 

“Then what are you waiting for?” Noctis tugs on his hips. 

Prompto climbs into Noct’s lap immediately, careful to avoid his knee brace. Noct is sitting cross-legged, so there’s plenty of space for Prompto to straddle him. His knees bracket Noct’s hips, and his hands find Noct’s shoulders as he settles in. His heart does the weird flippy thing it hasn’t done in a long time when Noct runs his hands over his hips and down the outside of his thighs.

And then Noctis—the  _ cheater _ —ducks his head and leans in to start pressing hot, wet kisses to Prompto’s jaw and throat. Prompto has no choice but to tip his head back and dig his fingers into Noct’s shoulders so he doesn’t melt into a puddle. 

Everywhere Noctis touches him, electricity buzzes under his skin, but the good kind of electricity, not the couldn’t-clear-the-thundaga-area-of-effect electricity. The kind of electricity that means he can’t just stay still. Prompto unclenches his fingers and seeks out the edges of Noct’s suit jacket so he can shove it off his shoulders, but Noct’s too busy sucking a bruise into Prompto’s throat and making him moan to take the jacket off right away.

(Prompto hopes Noctis leaves marks all over him. Something that will linger a little longer, after Noctis isn’t there to say  _ I love you _ anymore.)

“Cheater,” Prompto finally hisses at Noct when he pauses to select a new spot to claim. “You know I’m weak.”

“Shhhh. You’ll wake them up.”

“ _ You’ll _ wake them up,” Prompto responds with all the petty vengeance he can muster and rocks in Noct’s lap.

The startled groan from Noctis makes Prompto grin up at the dark sky. Hah, Noctis isn’t the only one who can exploit his partner’s weak points. He allows himself a moment to be smug, and then bites down hard on his lower lip when Noctis scrapes his teeth over Prompto’s pulse.

Prompto tries to stay quiet, he really does, but Noctis still remembers—or is good at finding—his most sensitive places. He slides his hands over Noct’s chest and starts fumbling at the shirt buttons. He can’t see them with his head tipped back, probably couldn’t see them in the faint light anyway, and it’s easy to be clumsy, for his fingers to tremble, when Noctis teases Promto’s inner thighs with careful strokes of his thumbs.

He manages to get Noct’s shirt all the way unbuttoned, somehow. Noct still hasn’t taken off his suit jacket, but that’s okay. With the shirt buttons undone, Prompto now has access to more of Noct’s skin. His fingers glide over the exposed strip of Noct’s chest, his abdomen, and he feels  _ powerful _ when he registers just how hard and fast Noct’s heart beats under his hand. 

Even back before—everything, any evidence that Noctis was just as into him as he was into Noctis always sent a thrill through him. Out of all the people in Insomnia, Prompto was the one who’d caught Noct’s attention. After ten years, that hasn’t changed. 

Prompto takes his time reacquainting himself with what he can access of Noct’s body. His fingertips find unfamiliar scars, and Prompto doesn’t know if it’s because he forgot them or if Noctis got them after Altissia. Noctis finally shrugs off his jacket and shirt with an impatient noise and Prompto helps Noct strip off his vest when Noct’s hands slide under it. 

Noct’s hands are hot, demanding. His blunt nails drag over Prompto’s skin, making him arch, shiver. Noct’s mouth trails down to his collarbone, and further. Prompto chokes back a moan and rocks his hips, grinding down, and relishes the cry Noctis muffles against his chest. 

Desire burns under his skin, through him, until Prompto is hard and aching. His neck, shoulder, and chest feel wonderfully bruised from Noct’s mouth, and his back and sides are raw from Noct’s nails. Noctis feels just as eager under him, so Prompto pushes back a little against Noct’s chest. 

Noct straightens up and immediately kisses the corner of his mouth. “You okay?” 

His voice sends a jolt down Prompto’s spine. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just—lie down? I want to—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but that’s all right. Noctis gives him a searing kiss and then lies back, as requested, though not all the way. He straightens out his legs but keeps himself propped up on his elbows, and Prompto hopes he likes whatever he can see in the shadows. 

This time it’s Prompto’s turn to heap attention on Noctis. He’s never been one to leave marks, both because there had to be a certain level of discretion around Noct’s romantic relationships by necessity, and because Prompto has never been in the habit of claiming many things or people as  _ his.  _

It’s too late to start now, when Prompto knows he can’t keep Noctis more than a night. He kisses his way down Noctis and shifts so he’s only straddling Noct’s right leg, so he won’t mess up the knee brace. He maps out the contours of Noct’s body with his hands and mouth, tries to burn the sounds Noctis makes into his memory. He doesn’t know if they’ll stay with him any longer than Noct’s laugh did.

Prompto thrusts that thought aside and focuses instead on the button and zipper of Noct’s pants. “It’s been a while,” Prompto warns. “So sorry if—”

“No apologies.” Even though Noct’s voice is thick with desire, the words come out more like a command than a reminder of Prompto’s own rules.

Prompto doesn’t argue, because that’s what he said at the start, isn’t it? He simply frees Noct’s cock from the last of his clothing and swallows it down instead.

He  _ is  _ out of practice. He can’t take Noctis as deeply as he used to, but between his mouth and his hand, he finds himself a rhythm that has Noctis biting off his groans in between ragged gasps for air. Prompto tries to watch Noct at first, but the haven’s runes don’t give off enough light to properly illuminate Noct’s changed face, and Noct’s silhouette is just different enough to be distracting. He closes his eyes instead and tries to remember what Noctis looked like whenever Prompto dropped to his knees in a motel room. 

Prompto has plenty of pictures of Noctis, but none like that, for the same reasons he never left obvious marks on Noctis if he could help it. At least it’s easier to fill in the gaps when he has a thousand other expressions on memory cards and in print. He knows what Noctis looks likes when his eyes go dark and his focus narrows down to a single point, and Noct’s battlefield eyes aren’t far off from his bedroom ones.

Noct’s hand traces the corner of Prompto’s jaw, and he rasps Prompto’s name in warning. Prompto takes it as a challenge and doesn’t pull away until after Noctis finishes coming. He’s still ambivalent about the taste, but he’s far less ambivalent about how Noctis hauls him up into a sloppy, breathless kiss afterwards. 

He made Noctis like this, incoherent and shuddering underneath a starless sky.  _ Him.  _ Prompto Argentum. And maybe it’s a little pathetic to put so much meaning into being able to get Noctis off, in being the only person Noctis  _ wants  _ to get him off, but—it’s one of the few bits of comfort Prompto can take from the ruin of all his hope, and he will cling to it until time eases it out of his grasp when he isn’t looking. 

Once Noctis catches his breath, he reaches down between them, and Prompto finally lets himself fall apart.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [tumblr](http://audreyskdramablog.tumblr.com/) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/audreyskdrama) if you like.


End file.
